My right hand comes up, fingers tapping lightly against the back of his neck, teasing the throb of his pulse. His blue faux hawk is slicked back down the center today, the color vibrant and fresh, and the silver rings in his ear play back the pretty light from the fragmented windows like a prism.
He shifts his gaze to mine.
“You ready for this?” he asks, and I nod.
This is it, the start of something new.
“I’m ready.”
Cat enters the room, nodding his head at Sin, relieving him of his duty. Because of course he would be walking me down the aisle. Giving me away. It’s what he’s always wanted. Even if I find the tradition to be a disturbing bit of prehistoric patriarchal nostalgia, I’ll allow it.
Because then I’ll be done with my father in so many ways. Out from under his roof. Away from his rules. Apart from his scrutiny and cruelty.
Sin gives my arm one last squeeze before slipping in the side door to find his place at the front of the room with the rest of the groomsmen. The girls I don’t know, daughters of powerful men in the club, take their places before the doors, waiting for them to open. Reba is just ahead of me; Nellie has left to take her seat.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Cat snorts, putting his arm through mine and flicking his gaze over his wife’s dress, the one that I borrowed for today. It fits me perfectly, harkening back to a time when Nellie wasn’t quite the skin-and-bones figure she cuts now.
There’s nothing fancy to it: a sweetheart neckline, wide shoulder straps, a tailored bodice with a lace overlay, and a skirt that falls just above my knees. Oh, and it has pockets. It has motherfucking pockets, bitches. Also, Queenie had always said that if she were to ever get married, she’d want to wear Nellie’s dress down the aisle. Yes, it shows off my scarred shoulder and my ruined legs, but I’m starting to accept that those scars, they’re a part of me. They’re proof that I’ll put my money where my mouth is, that I’m not afraid to die for the right reasons, but that I’ll fight like hell to live another day.
I hope something about this situation pleases Queenie, wherever she is. After all, she gave her life to save mine. I owe her that much at least. I owe her to find some small sliver of happiness in this world.
With my borrowed dress, my boots, and my white leather jacket, I feel it.
Club princess.
I snort right back.
“Me neither, old man.”
The girls slip out the door one by one, until it’s just me and Cat and Reba. My best friend turns suddenly, throwing her arm around my neck and pressing a sweet-scented kiss to my cheek.
“Good luck,” she whispers before preceding us down the aisle.
Everything comes full circle in that moment.
Everything.
The double doors in front of us open, and Cat walks me through them, into the center of all that attention.
The stained-glass windows near the roof of the church were long-ago destroyed, leaving empty holes that allow the filtered sunshine through. Vines dangle down, symptoms of long neglect. The stone walls are sturdy, but everything else in here is in a remarkable state of deshabille.
There are no pews, just metal folding chairs pushed too close together. There isn’t quite enough room for everyone, so bikers in leather cuts stand outside, looking in through the busted windows. They’re all flying colors, dressed in Death by Daybreak leather.
Even the boys are all wearing their vests over the black dress shirts underneath, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms and vibrant ink. Beast, and by extension his three groomsmen, all have crisp black slacks on, but I can see that every single one of them is wearing leather riding boots underneath.
That’s the best part of all this, the way those four men look up there together.
Dressed in black. Cloaked in leather. The intensity in each one of their gazes is enough to stagger me, let alone the combined force of them. For a second there, I actually have to lean on Cat’s hairy forearm for support.
Pigeons scatter from the rafters above my head, their flapping wings a poetic sound against the backdrop of the music. The song I picked is, ironically, the very same one that was playing during my wedding to Grey.
Canon in D Major.
I have no idea what that means in music-speak, but the song works. I needed it to work, because I like things to make sense. I nearly married a mafia brat to this song; I’ll now marry an outlaw enforcer.
Ribbons and swaths of black fabric billow in a light breeze. Nellie and Reba did an incredible job disguising the metal chairs with their decorations, swags of fabric lining either side of the aisle. I’m even walking down a long, red carpet.
On the dais, hundreds of white candles in varying shapes and sizes burn, their sputtering flames dancing to the music. In the church, an unholy union of demons awaits, presided over by the devil king himself.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Cat murmurs in my ear, giving me a kiss on the cheek and scratching me with his salt-and-pepper beard. Nellie sits in the front row, balling her eyes out while Gaz glares at me from beside her.
The most sacrilegious part of this entire experience is having him here, knowing what he did, knowing that he had a hand in my sisters’ deaths. I’d love nothing more than to run him through with the blade Queenie gave me when I was eleven. It’s tucked up under my dress in a thigh holster. Same deal with my Magnum. It’s right there, beneath the folds of the short skirt.
If the breeze were to blow just right, I’m sure some of the folks in the audience would get a nice view of it, but that’s okay. It isn’t unexpected at a one-percenter’s wedding.
My father moves to the front of the dais as I step forward and Beast offers me up his hand. It’s big and warm and rough, his skin tanned from the sun. I can barely breathe as I look up at him. I’ve never seen him without a beard, never. He’s equally beautiful with or without it, but I’m enjoying the hard cut of his jaw, the competing softness of his lips.
He smiles at me, and my heart skips a whole beat, leaving me suspended in time.
His blue eyes meet mine as Cat—because you know the asshole is smug enough to be ordained—begins the ceremony. Beast takes both of my hands in his and holds them while Cat talks. Whatever he says, I’m barely listening.
Instead, I memorize that moment.
I memorize the shape of Beast’s smile, the perfect sandy blond color of his hair, the smell of the smoky breeze. Sunlight falls across the pair of us, leaving the other three men in shadow. But it doesn’t matter because I can still see them.
I can see Grainger frowning hard, the muscles in his neck and hands tense. I can see Sin stoic and emotionless until he catches my eyes, and then smiles crookedly. I can see Crown, like a stone wall devoid of all emotion. He won’t look at me, but that’s okay.
Today isn’t about him.
I turn my attention back to Beast.
We keep our gazes on one another as Cat finishes up his relatively short speech. We’re bikers, okay. We don’t do long, dry monologues. Everybody here is eager to get to the procession, to the drinking, the all-night partying.
Nellie asked me a few days ago if Beast and I would like to write vows for today.
We both declined.
Whatever vows need be said will be said in private. Neither of us is the type to air our emotions in public. Beast does, however, provide me with another gold ring—likely made from that same championship belt—before swapping the engagement ring from my right to my left hand to join it.
In the pocket of my borrowed dress, I have a plain gold band to put on his finger as well. Since he also had this made, it slides right over his big finger without a hitch.
“Y’all are husband and wife now—thank fuck,” Cat says, nodding his chin at Beast. “Kiss the bride, and let’s be done with this.”
As with everything else in this shotgun-style wedding, I expect the kiss to be perfunctory at best.
I am dead wrong on that end.
I don’t have to get up on my tiptoes because he leans down, closing the distance between us in a way that only he could, like a shadow eclipsing the sun. His scent, like a fine cup of Earl Grey with just a dash of milk, like ancient ink and the pages of yellowing tomes, sweeps over me at the same time his left arm encircles my waist.
My breath releases in a rush as I close my eyes and Beast’s mouth meets mine, a cathexis of ardency and fervor, of demanding need and overwhelming love. He’s been here for me all along, just waiting, watching. As patient as a predator in the night. As deadly. As unexpected.
My arms slide around his neck as the crowd erupts in hoots and hollers, catcalls and whistles. Lewd comments are thrown along with scattered ball bearings, tiny metal orbs that gather around our feet as the crowd chucks them like rice at a traditional wedding. The club likes to carry these things around in bags and, if anyone gets too close to their bike while on the road, they’ll chuck a handful at them.
Appropriate.
I don’t really think much about it in that moment, too consumed by a kiss that’s all the more poignant because of the wait, the anticipation, the need. Beast’s tongue presses between my lips, hot and fiery, a hellacious intrusion that tastes like forever, like protection, like love.
Palladio by Escala begins to play, as per my request.
I can feel the surge of energy from the crowd feeding into us, encouraging Beast to pull me closer to him, kiss me harder. His hand in my hair remains gentle enough, kneading my scalp as his tongue claims me in a way I’ve been dreaming about for years.
When he pulls back, I almost collapse from the overwhelming surge of need that ricochets through me. If I don’t satisfy it soon, I’ll die. It will quite literally poison me from the inside out.
“Sugar,” Beast says, helping me out of my white jacket. He passes it over to Sin before slipping his vest off and helping me into it.
His eyes when they meet mine are full of fire.
We are not going to make it to the wedding night—not officially.
“Alright, alright,” Cat says, gesturing down the aisle. “Let’s ride.”
Beast takes my hand and guides me away from the altar; I can’t resist one, last look over my shoulder, just to make sure they’re behind me. The other three. Just as important. Just as needed.
They stay with us, escorting us into the hallway, truly my honor guard on this day, like I always wanted.
“Come with me,” I say, yanking Beast toward the supply closet nearby. I can’t wait. I’ve waited long enough.
“Darlin’,” he warns, but he’s gritting his teeth, and I can see that he’s been pushed to his absolute limit.
We fall into the closet together and Beast slams the door behind us, gathering me into his arms in the darkness. I have no idea what’s in here, but items clatter around as we kiss each other ferociously, bodies slamming into the wall at the back of the closet.
Beast holds me with one arm, tearing his slacks open with his other hand.
My skirts are pushed up, his big hands finding my ass and squeezing.
“The fuck you got on under here, suge?” he asks, his voice in my ear, the sweet sound of it like warm honey being poured over my skin. His accent turns me on like nothing else; I want to eat it up, consume it, drag it into me.
“A cherry-red thong,” I whisper, throwing my head back with a groan when he bites my neck. His face is smooth as he rubs it against me, grasping the front of the thong in one hand and wrenching it off like the flimsy scrap that it is. I don’t know what happens to it after that, but I don’t give two fucks about it.
Beast lifts me up and slams my back against the wall, his mouth plundering mine, consuming me, claiming me. We’re married now. We’re actually married. Like, officially. Like, for real.
His cock finds my aching heat in the darkness, and he drives in hard and deep, filling me all the way up, making me scream. It’s possible that people can hear me outside the closet door, but oh well. That’s their problem.
I have a marriage to consummate.
I’m being fucked against the wall in my wedding dress and boots, my panties shredded, my heart shattering to pieces. It feels so good to finally have him, after all this time, all this waiting and wanting. Every time he murmured wedding night, Gidge comes back to me, and I writhe, bracing my boots on the wall on either side of him for more leverage.
As my husband pounds me into the wall, I push back, moving my pelvis into him, taking him even deeper than I thought possible. His balls slap against my ass as he ruts me like his namesake might imply, like a Beast breeding his mate.
“Oh God, I can’t take it,” I groan, the harrowing torment of finally getting what I want. Of being mated, of being taken, I love it. I love it even more that we’re in a church, that I’m in a wedding dress, that a huge crowd is waiting for us to climb on Beast’s bike for a ride through town.
That ominous feeling sweeps over me again, but it’s soon drowned in a tide of lust.
I can’t think anymore, can’t feel anything beyond the thick, wide shaft burrowing into me over and over again, seeking my core, my heart. With a moan that feels more akin to a snarl than anything else, Beast comes hard, squeezing me against him and spilling hot liquid into my cunt.
The feel of him, big and strong and shuddering against me, drives my own orgasm, and I rock my hips a few more times, using his pelvis to stimulate my clit. The orgasm whips through me, making me hurt, and I dig my nails into Beast’s back, gouging him through his dress shirt as we both tremble and rock a few final times before coming to a rest.
“Not exactly what I meant when I said wedding night,” he purrs in my ear, and I writhe all over again, working my wet body along his shaft and making him curse.
A fist pounds on the door outside.
“People are starting to ask what’s happened to the two of you.” It’s Crown’s voice. Shit. Of the three men, he’s the one I least wanted waiting outside that door.
Beast gives my ass another squeeze before carefully lowering me to the floor. He makes sure I’ve got my feet before releasing me entirely.
“What do you need?” he asks as I put my hand on the wall and try to catch my breath. I can barely hear him over the sound of my racing heart.
“My bag.” It’s all I can manage to get out, as breathless and shaky as I feel. I brought it with me to the church, so I could change for the procession; Beast understands what I mean without my having to explain.
“I got you, wife,” he promises, opening the door and letting a sliver of light in. “Watch her for a minute, would ya?”
Beast disappears and, much to my surprise, Crown steps into the closet with me.
I can’t see him; he’s just limned by light. But I can feel him. I wonder what he’s thinking? How he feels right now?
“Crown,” I start, but he puts up a hand.
“Please don’t,” he says, and his voice, it’s far too rough for me to argue with. He’s clearly struggling with a lot of emotions. So I say nothing, leaning back against the wall for support and keeping my legs tightly squeezed together.
Beast comes back in fairly short order and Crown steps aside, letting my husband take his place.
I accept the bag, kneeling down on the floor to dig through it until I find the period panties I packed. They’re designed to catch and hold a heavy flow, so I figure they’ll work great for this. I may or may not have brought them with me with this exact moment in mind. I’ve also got those white leather pants that Sin mentioned, along with Beast’s jacket.
I offer him his cut back and swap it for the long-sleeved leather instead. The pageantry of accepting his cut at the altar was nice, but I’m not riding a motorcycle with bar
e arms. Never again. Also, for comfort’s sake, I slip Queenie’s knife into my pocket and switch the Magnum’s thigh holster out for a shoulder holster.
It’s a lot, moving all of these weapons around, but I refuse to be caught with my pants down.
I mean, I’ll be caught with my thong torn off, that’s fine, but like, metaphorically, I refuse to be without weapons for even two seconds.
“Don’t let me die out there today,” I tell Beast, stepping forward and allowing him to take my head in his hands.
“I won’t,” he promises, and then he’s kissing me again, working his tongue between my lips with slow certainly, with a fraction more restraint than he had before our quick fuck. I can only imagine what secrets our wedding night will hold; he still feels coiled, poised, a red-blooded male that needs to mate.
After he’s kissed me breathless and left me reeling, Beast pulls me from the closet by the hand. He keeps me close, hooking a possessive arm around my waist before leading me over to the door where Crown is waiting. He opens it and steps aside, waiting for us to exit the church before following after.
The crowd outside is massive, flanking both sides of the road. A sea of lesser demons gathered together before the pits of hell. They look it, with their tattoos and leather, their piercings, the hardness etched into each and every face. Man, woman, or child, it doesn’t matter.
The life digs its claws into your soul; it marks you; it owns you.
No matter where you go or what you do after, it’s a part of you.
Down the center of the road, there’s a line of motorcycles, their chrome accents shiny in the sunlight. They may as well be red-eyed stallions for all it matters, Luciferian beasts pawing at the ground with sharpened hooves.
And today, it’s all for me. It’s all mine. My dark parade.
Cat is waiting at the head of the procession. Beast’s bike is just behind his, waiting for us. Beyond that, Crown’s bike sits empty. Grainger is already on his, followed by Sin. They watch me as I approach with Beast, climbing up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.
I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 37